


What's a Kiss Between Roommates?

by mzanthropist



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Multi, New Girl au, Smoaking billionaires, Tumblr: otpprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mzanthropist/pseuds/mzanthropist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From otpprompts: Imagine your OTP having their faces show up on Kiss Cam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's a Kiss Between Roommates?

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the New Girl AU that can be found on my Tumblr account.

"This can _not_ be happening,” Felicity mutters under her breath, flinching reflexively as the 30’x50’ screen hanging over centre ice mirrors back her displeased grimace. The “about to undergo multiple root canals” face-crumple was _not_ a good look on her. Especially in high definition.

 

Oliver and Tommy exchange amused looks over her head. “Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” says the latter, “or expecting, to be honest.” He peers down at her, lips twitching. “The response to being caught on kiss cam with either of us is usually less… disgruntled.”

 

Felicity scoffs, eyes still trained on the Jumbotron, attempting to stare it into submission. “Yeah, well, I’m willing to bet no one’s ever been caught in a shot with the  _both_  of you.”

 

As if to underscore her point, the graphic heart framing Oliver, Tommy and herself begins to contract and expand, pulsing to the rhythm of whatever Top 40 hit was blaring over the speakers. Her glower darkens; she has never hated technology so much in her _life_.

 

"True," Tommy concedes, fingers drumming idly against the armrest, "but there’s a first time for everything, right?"

 

She snorts humourlessly. “Not for a ménage à trois, kiss cam edition, there won’t be. Not today and probably not _ever_. At least not with me as a participant.”

 

Tucking her chin to her chest, Felicity pulls the Stars cap low over her eyes, shutting out Tommy’s pout and shielding her face from the camera hellbent on eliciting PDA from hapless, unsuspecting spectators. Arms crossing, she grunts, “Tell me when it’s lost interest.”

 

Oliver shakes his head, a small smile unfurling on his lips. “You might be waiting a while,” he says, ducking his head to catch her eye. “Because I don’t think it plans on giving up any time soon.”

 

Felicity freezes mid-slump, morbid curiosity propelling her head to tilt back and eyes to sneak a peek from beneath the visor. She groans. Loudly and for good reason. Not only had the camera pulled in tighter around their faces (the guy flailing frantically in the row below is cropped out of the shot altogether), hearts in varying shades of pink and red float along the perimeter of the screen. _Goddammit._

 

With an aggrieved huff, she reaches for her purse. Since the idiot behind the camera _clearly_ couldn’t take a hint, body language appearing to be a foreign concept, she was going to have to spell it out for him.

 

Felicity roots through her bag, studiously ignoring the twin looks of bemusement shot in her direction, before spotting and whipping out a plain black Sharpie. She uncaps it viciously with her teeth, snatches a mustard-stained napkin from the cup-holder at her elbow and smoothes it flat against her thigh. Hunching over, she prints  **ROOMMATES**  in bold block letters, bookending the word with two large outward-pointing arrows.

 

With a satisfied nod, she caps then tosses the marker back into her purse. Spine straightening and face no longer shadowed by the brim of her cap, she defiantly holds the makeshift sign under her chin.

 

Oliver bursts into incredulous laughter. “Really?” he asks, eyeing the creased napkin in her hands, brows raised and eyes crinkled. “Is that necessary?”

 

“Yes, _really_ ,” Felicity hisses through the corner of her mouth, eyes fixed on the screen as she adjusts the napkin’s positioning. “I’m having a difficult time as it is trying to explain how I wound up with not one, but _two_  billionaires for roommates, who, for reasons unknown to me, are slumming it in a loft apartment in the Glades with an IT technician and a broke med student when they could be living it up in separate 10,000-square-foot penthouses downtown.” She swats a curl from her face. “Giving into this ridiculous demand will only raise more questions I can’t answer and that really shouldn’t have to be raised in the first place.”

 

Her eyes cut to Tommy then Oliver, jaw setting mulishly. “Also, jettisoning my agency and self-respect at the behest of a damn camera and the asshole operating it is just not an option for me.”

“I don’t know…” Her eyes flick to Tommy’s profile, narrowing as he juts his chin toward the Jumbotron. The twitch in his lips has doubled in intensity. “It’s being pretty persistent. And you know how susceptible I am to suggestion.”

 

Against her better judgment, Felicity follows his gaze –

 

And immediately wishes she hadn’t. Because there, on the bottom left corner of the screen, was Sebastian the crab (yes, from _The Little Mermaid_ ) with a speech bubble attached to his lipless mouth, a loopy _Go on and kiss the girl!_ inscribed at its centre. (When did Disney characters start making the rounds at sporting events?)

Felicity grits her teeth, nostrils flaring in irritation. She was going to _tank_ the credit score of the evil little hobbit orchestrating all of this. And she absolutely would _not_ feel an ounce of remorse; as far as she was concerned, whoever this was had it coming.

 

Eyes closed and fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, Felicity’s halfway through a string of darkly muttered curses, mentally ranting at whichever so-called benevolent higher power had handed her this decidedly  _cruel_ misfortune, when she feels cool palms pressing into her heated cheeks. They gently lift then steer her head to the side. Tommy’s grin, broad and mischievous (a surefire sign of trouble), greets her when her eyes flutter open. “Tommy, wha—”

 

“They got the crab involved,” he interrupts, eyes twinkling, “and I can’t deny that damn crustacean anything.”

 

Before she has a chance to protest, Tommy leans in, soft lips pressing onto hers. She stiffens, eyes round, the din of the crowd reduced to a dull roar in her ears. One hand curls instinctively into the front of his jersey, undecided as to whether it wants to tug him closer or shove him away.

 

Mind made up a split second later ( _Away. Far away_ , the sensible corner of her brain commands), Felicity’s about to retreat, wrench her lips away and poke his chest until it was mottled black and blue, when his tongue swipes at her bottom lip. She gasps, lips parting as the murderous thoughts stutter to a stop. Which promptly return when he smirks smugly against her lips. _Jerk._

 

But rather than deepen the kiss (she tells herself it’s totally _not_ disappointment that pools in her stomach when he doesn’t), he begins to pull away. Unconsciously, she trails after him, leaning into the armrest that separates them.

 

Then, as plastic jabs into her ribs, she remembers: this was _Tommy Merlyn_ , the hot water hog who sleeps across the hall from her, steals her Frosted Flakes and for whom she has nothing but platonic, _friendly_ feelings.

 

(And okay, _maybe_  the occasional spark of attraction.)

 

Felicity jerks away, the palm of her hand slamming into his shoulder. Her eyes roll when he recoils exaggeratedly, rubbing the point of impact with a petulant “Ow!” She glares, not knowing whether she’s more put out by the fact that he’d initiated the kiss or because he’d been such a goddamn _tease_ about it.

 

“What was that?”

 

“The crab made me do it!”

 

She pinches his arm. “Seriously? You’re going to blame a cartoon? Own up to your actions, Merlyn!”

 

“Oliver,” Tommy whines, craning his neck to seek out his friend, “save me!”

 

Felicity socks him in the thigh. “No  _way_  am I letting you tag-team yourself out of this one, Tommy,” she all but growls. “Sure, it might’ve worked last week when you broke my grandmother’s antique vase - it was passed down _six_ generations without a scratch and then I move in with the two of you and—” 

 

She stops herself, heaving a breath. _Stay on message, Felicity_. “You can’t fool me twice,” she says, head shaking. “I’m on to your tricks, buddy, and nothing Oliver can do or say will get you out of this.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Oliver says from behind her, voice low and tinged with laughter. “I think I can think of a way,”

 

Felicity swivels in her seat, a brow lifted in challenge. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

 

His head tilts toward the suspended screen in answer. With a resigned, heavy sigh (any acknowledgement of the Jumbotron was beginning to feel like a bad omen at this point), she turns. A muscle in her cheek jumps; it’s an appropriate response, in her opinion, to the puckered lips superimposed on a closeup of her and Oliver.  _Son of a bitch._  ”Does this guy have _nothing_ better to do?”

 

Oliver chuckles. “I think it’s his job?”

 

"Yeah, alright," she mumbles the acquiescence dourly, tearing her gaze away. "But why _us_? I mean, there are probably hundreds of actual, _real_ couples out there who I’m sure would be more than willing to ham it up for the camera. So why is he obsessed with making _this_ —” she gestures wildly at the three of them “—happen? Is he _purposely_ trying to stir up drama? — Not that there would be any, seeing as how we’re all just roommates, maybe friends, but definitely not—”

 

Oliver cups her face. The rest of her ramble dies in her throat. “Maybe it’s a social experiment—”

_Yeah_ , she scoffs inwardly, _designed by Satan_.

 

"—and if that’s the case, who am I to stand in the progress of science?" Then with a wink (and before her brain has a chance to process anything he’s just said), his mouth is slanting over hers, a gentle pressure on her lips.

 

Felicity blinks dumbly, heart pounding against her ribcage. Then, throwing caution to the wind (because what the hell; she’d already made out with one roommate, what was one more?), she returns the kiss.

 

Emboldened — because if this was her one chance to kiss Oliver Queen, then she sure as hell wasn’t going to pull back any punches — Felicity tilts her head for a better angle, running her teeth over his bottom lip. She can’t suppress the satisfied (and somewhat triumphant) smile that blooms on her lips when he shivers against her, mouth opening under hers, pliant and willing.

 

She laps at his lower lip experimentally, tentatively, tasting a faint trace of beer and ketchup — which only magnifies when his tongue surges forward to meet hers, a hand sliding up her jaw and burying into her hair. Nimble fingers gently massage the base of her skull, eliciting a low, throaty moan of approval.

 

“Hey!” comes a disembodied shout, somehow breaking through the pleasant hum in her ears, the fog clouding her brain. Felicity startles, eyes snapping open and nose bumping against Oliver’s. “This is a family event! Keep it PG!”

 

Blood rushes into her cheeks as Oliver huffs a laugh into her mouth. Slowly (and reluctantly), Felicity pulls away, a little breathless and a lot lightheaded. But despite the oxygen deprivation, she’s hyper aware of everything – the tingling in her lips, Oliver’s callused thumb stroking the ridge of her collar bone, Tommy’s thigh warming the hand she’d forgotten to remove.

 

Tommy leans in close, breath ghosting the shell of her ear. “What were you saying about a no first time?”

 

A swift kick to the shin wipes the smug smirk right off his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and please drop a note if you've got the time, either here or on Tumblr. I love hearing back from readers!


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